


give praise to the fire

by pharmakon



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon), Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Temeraire Fusion, American Gothic - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-05-14 18:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pharmakon/pseuds/pharmakon
Summary: Wirt and Greg, two lost boys, find a dragon's egg and a whole lot of trouble.*Wirt tuned his brother (half-brother) out as the little boy rambled on. The Beast was burning houses again. Houses with people inside. He hadn't done that since he'd gone too close to Pottsfield six months and earned the wrath of the Harvest King. But now the days were shortening to winter, and the sun was growing colder and farther away, and soon it would start to snow. And winter was the Beast's domain.Wirt missed Boston, with its fledgling Aerial Corps and its Massachuset dragons and its aviators (especially--well, no, no point thinking about her) with a passion. In the Unknown, dragons seemed less like ordinary citizens of these United States and more like unstoppable forces of nature. He and Greg would never stand a chance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fusion with the Temeraire series by Naomi Novik, where dragons have always been around and where world history is dramatically changed because of it. For anyone coming from the Temeraire fandom, Over the Garden Wall is a really good animated miniseries that aired on Cartoon Network in 2014.

Smoke was an all-too-familiar smell in the woods the locals called the Unknown, but that didn't stop Wirt from jerking awake as soon as the acrid smell reached his bed. He scrambled out of bed, tangling his legs in the sheets, and dashed outside the cabin to stare up at the trees. In the distance, over the thick deciduous underbrush, a plume of smoke rose up into the dark sky, smudging out the stars.

Wirt wracked his brain to remember who he knew that lived over there, but came up blank. His and Greg's whole stay in the Unknown had been that way: uncertainties and forgotten ways, vagueness that came into their minds like-- like a creeping fog, that was poetic--and stole away their knowledge of their parents' whereabouts, and how they had ended up staying in an old cabin in the middle of nowhere where not even the local Indians would tread, and how they'd ended up living with their heads down in a forest stalked by a murderous dragon known only as the Beast.

The Beast had burned whoever's home that had been. That, Wirt knew for a fact. The Beast didn't like people, sometimes, for all that he loved to feed on them when it struck his fancy. The woman at the Tavern had said he would follow the Woodsman sometimes, that broken man who walked with the lantern and built fires for the Beast's fancy, but Wirt only had her word for it. He'd never met the Beast personally. With luck, maybe, he never would.

But when did his luck ever hold out? "Wirt?" a small voice piped up behind him. "Hey, Wirt, what are you out here for?"

Wirt sighed. "Go inside, Greg. It's nothing."

"What are you out here staring at nothing for?" Greg persisted. He rubbed at his eyes with his fists. "Can I stare at nothing with you?"

"No!" Wirt snapped, louder than he'd meant to. The forest absorbed the sound like a vast abyss, and Wirt shuddered. "No-- Greg, just shush."

"You shush!" the little boy shot back. Then his eyes widened with curiosity. "Hey, is that smoke?"

"We're going inside," Wirt decided, grabbing Greg's wrist and pulling him along. "Right now. Um. Okay?" He didn't relax until he'd gotten Greg inside the cabin and closed the door.

Greg trotted into the room and sat down on the rug. "Hey Wirt, why's there smoke outside? Is someone cooking food? Can we get some? If it's pork, we can eat it with potatoes and maybe even apples..."

Wirt tuned his brother ( _half_ -brother) out as the little boy rambled on. The Beast was burning houses again. Houses with people inside. He hadn't done that since he'd gone too close to Pottsfield six months and earned the wrath of the Harvest King. But now the days were shortening to winter, and the sun was growing colder and farther away, and soon it would start to snow. And winter was the Beast's domain.

Wirt missed Boston, with its fledgling Aerial Corps and its Massachuset dragons and its aviators (especially--well, no, no point thinking about her) with a passion. In the Unknown, dragons seemed less like ordinary citizens of these United States and more like unstoppable forces of nature. He and Greg would never stand a chance.

"... and maybe molasses if they have some! Wirt, can we go see what they're cooking?"

"No, Greg," Wirt said tiredly. "Look, just go to bed, alright? It's too late to be up like this."

"But what if it's good food?" Greg protested. Wirt felt his heart cave a little at the plaintive words.

 "You're plump enough as it is!" he teased, making himself smile, and poked at Greg's belly.

His brother jumped back, giggling, and said, "At least I'm not a skinny stick like you! I'm gonna call you Skinny, stick-face!"

"Well, then I'm gonna call you Sleepy-head," Wirt declared, "because you're going to bed."

Greg giggled more and shouted "No-o-o!" in his most dramatic voice as Wirt carried him back to bed and tucked him in. "We'll go out tomorrow, okay?" Wirt promised. "To the Tavern, so you can see Fred."

"Okay," Greg said, eyes already drooping. "And we can ask about Mom and Dad and everyone?"

"Yeah," Wirt said, voice breaking. "Yeah. We can do that too."

When Greg drifted off, Wirt crept back out into the living room and sat down in front of the fireplace, poking at it to keep it lit. As it got colder, he and Greg would have to move out here to sleep near the fire. They hadn't gone through a winter in the Unknown yet. Wirt wasn't sure they'd survive to go through another.

Wirt catalogued the other people who lived in the Unknown that he knew. There was the Woodsman, who had helped him and Greg when they'd first been lost, letting them stay at his mill until they found an abandoned cabin where they could live. There was the redheaded family that lived somewhere west of his cabin, which had at least a dozen children. There was the Tavern and all its usual occupants: the Tavern Keeper, the Highwayman, and the other townsfolk.

And then there were wolves, though the ones that lived in America seemed more shy than those Wirt had read of in Europe and in Russia-- the wolves that tore people from their beds, that followed men on horseback and harried their steeds until their prey were thrown. And there were bears, though the Beast kept their numbers in check, and the ancient Edelwoods, trees Wirt had never seen nor heard of anywhere else in the world, which the natives claimed contained the souls of lost children.

Lost spirits. And why couldn't he remember what had happened to his parents, or what had led to him and Greg wandering through this strange forest, following worn-down paths yet hardly meeting a soul?

Wirt tried to compose poetry in his head, knowing his anxieties would keep him from sleep. _We are like sparks of a fire, thrown from our origin by forces beyond our ken, doomed to blaze and die out in a slow encroaching chill..._

_We are nothing but leaves, scattered by an indifferent wind..._

_We are naught but two birds, caught in a trap and fluttering for freedom, unaware that our fates are already sealed._

The fire licked and ate at the firewood it had been fed, blackening the outsides and spitting hot sparks into the air. Wirt looked into it, trying to think about poetry, as the colors danced and twirled, burning and devouring all they could reach.

Wirt looked into the flames and thought of all the ways a heavyweight firebreather could break down the walls of their flimsy cabin to eat them alive.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An egg is found.

Wirt hiked out to the origin of the smoke the next day. He shouldn't have, because it was stupid and could provoke the Beast, but the family that lived out there had been nice to him and Greg when they'd first met, so he wanted to make sure they were okay.

Morbid curiosity may have played a role, too. Wirt wouldn't tell. 

When he made his way into the clearing where the family had once lived, however, he wished he'd left well enough alone.

The house was a charred-out husk, and the smell of burnt flesh choked the air. Wirt gagged, eyes watering from the stench and from horror, and staggered back against a tree. There were giant scorched footprints in the grass of the clearing. He couldn't see any bodies, but that didn't mean there hadn't been any. It only meant the Beast had gotten to them first. 

He tried not to throw up. 

He failed.

He'd known this family, was the thing. The mother had tried to feed him and Greg every time they'd been in her sight. The children had been all over the place, every one of them red-haired and energetic-- every one of them full of life and joy. Theirs had been a hard life, but they had lived it to the fullest, and they'd managed to stay out of the Beast's way for years. And now every one of them, even their dog, was dead at his hands.

A hint of color in the rubble gleamed out at him. He wanted to turn away-- looting dead bodies was disrespectful, and an affront to God besides-- but something about the shape of it piqued his interest. He stepped over a fallen beam and through the ashes carefully, until he reached the mystery object. It was tucked into the house's fireplace, the only part of it that was stone, that had survived the blaze, and so it was covered in soot. Wirt glanced around in case the Beast was watching, then kneeled and wiped the soot away, hand brushing against a hard, smooth surface like that of a river stone.

Wirt knew better, though, from years of hanging around Boston covert to talk to Sara and her friends. This was no stone.

The egg gleamed a bluish-silver beneath the dirty gray, barely larger than a curled-up cat. It was wrapped in a half-burnt cloth and had obviously been well cared-for. Wirt shivered. So _that_ was why the Beast had chosen this family to destroy. He didn't tolerate any other dragons in his territory. 

Wirt stood back and gazed at the egg wistfully. When he was a little kid, it had been a dream of his to somehow find a dragon and join the covert, or if that failed to live around dragons and work for them-- he'd heard of dragon merchants, usually lightweights and courier-weights, making their own way in the world, and when he'd been young enough to be jealous of his mother's attention to Greg, he'd wanted to do the same. But taking  _this_ egg with him would be a death sentence for him and Greg both. He'd have to leave it, and the hatchling within it, to die.

"I'm sorry," he said awkwardly. "I can't-- your whole family's dead, and you're probably gonna die too, because of the Beast, and I can't take you with me. Sorry. And I guess... good luck. I hope you manage to make it out of the Unknown before the Beast kills you." Wirt grimaced. " _We_ probably won't."

He left the clearing and didn't look back. Above him the sky turned gray and cold.

*

"Hey, Wirt?" Greg prodded, staring at the skinned rabbit Wirt was trying to cook. "Do you ever feel bad about killing stuff?"

Wirt sighed. Yes, actually, he did, and he thought rabbits were cute, too, but he felt worse about not eating. "Yeah, sometimes. But we have to eat, don't we? And we can sell what I catch at Pottsfield so we can buy other food." Wirt had tried selling poetry at Pottsfield, too, with minimal success. There wasn't really a big market for wordplay in such a small town. In Boston, he thought, he'd have better odds.

Outside in the dark, a storm raged, yanking at treetops and throwing lightning across the sky. Wirt had bolted the door shut against the wind, but rain still seeped in from the roof and the walls. Their cabin wasn't exactly in the best condition. 

Greg was wrapped in the last blanket, too-- the perks of being the youngest. "Huh," the little boy said. "Yeah, okay. Can we go to Pottsfield soon? I want to play with the turkeys again."

"Greg, the turkeys don't want to be played with," Wirt said long-sufferingly. "The turkeys hate being played with! You're gonna end up all covered in dirt again."

"But they gobble at me!" Greg protested. "Like this--" He tried to copy the sound. Wirt cringed.

"Please don't do that," he begged. "That's-- that's painful to hear." A thunder clap rattled the branches outside, and both of them jumped. Heavy rain slammed against the roof.

"Hey, Wirt?" Greg asked after a moment. "Do you think when wolves howl when it's raining they have to sneeze because there's water in their noses?"

"No, Greg, I think they just don't howl," Wirt said, listening to the forest. Had that been another crash from the wind in the trees, knocking down a branch? "Did you hear that?"

Greg shook his head. "All I can hear is this fire!" he said, pushing another twig into the flames. He scooted closer to the fireplace and trotted a toy soldier across the ground. " _This_ soldier's gonna save the world from giant mushrooms!"

"Okay, Greg." Seriously, what was going on with the storm outside? It sounded like something was bringing a tree crashing down. Another thunderclap, and he winced closer to the fire himself. Hopefully the cabin was sturdy enough to survive a branch or two falling on the roof, too.

Greg made an explosion noise and threw the soldier down on the ground, and at the same time, a thump rang out against the door. Wirt yelped. "It's the Beast!" Greg crowed, and he threw his toy soldier at the door.

"Greg!" Wirt hissed. "Shh! Something's at the door." A scratching sound came from the other side. He didn't think it was the Beast-- they'd already be dead if that were true-- but wolves? A bear? Those were possibilities. "Who's there?" he called out, standing with Greg behind him. "I'm warning you, I--" He scooped up the poker by the fire-- "I'm armed!"

Another thump, and then a muffled sound. "Who's there?" Wirt demanded again, shakily. "You-- you'd better tell me!"

"Let me in!" a voice shouted. Storm winds almost drowned it out. More scratching, then-- "You-- I'm hungry, you have food, I can smell it-- let me in!"

Wirt glanced back at the rabbit. Was that what the person was smelling? How would they even smell that from _outside--_ "That's ours," he said, trying to sound firm. "You can't have it, so go away!"

"You have to have more, you-- you  _jerk!_ You can give me that! I need it more than you! Just _let me in_!" Another thump, like whoever it was had thrown herself at the door, and then a frustrated, high-pitched growl. Wirt froze. Growling, speech, what sounded like a small body... It couldn't be. There was no way.

"Greg, stay back," he warned, and then he jerked forward and opened the door. 

A sodden, sullen creature tumbled through the door, followed by buffeting rain. Wirt closed the door against the wind, and the little dragonet straightened herself up, shaking her wings out and craning her neck at the rabbit. "It's about time you let me in, you know," she complained, hopping to get the water off her body. Her neck was still wet with eggshell. " _Cheese and crackers,_ it's raining out there! Is weather always like that?"

"It's a storm," Wirt said blankly. "It's not always like that." The dragonet was about the size of a house cat, soaking wet and hissy with frustration. Wirt remembered that according to the United States Aerial Corps, any dragon hatched outside of the wild had to be harnessed immediately if it were to have a captain and be certain to go into battle. With wild dragons, or tribal ones, it depended on the individual whether or not they fought, and that (so it was said) wasn't nearly so reliable.

He remembered Sara scoffing at that.  _Like a lack of free will is better?_ It had always been a touchy subject, with her.

The dragonet inched closer to the rabbit, and Greg reached out to pat her head.

"Oh, hey, you're a dragon!" Greg chirped. "You have pretty feathers." She  _did_ have feathers, Wirt realized-- the strange scale-feathers of South American dragons, but in a light powdery blue. She was about the size of a house cat, too, which... didn't that mean she'd be maybe a lightweight at most? He'd never seen her kind of dragon before. He had no idea what she might be.

"Thanks," the dragonet said, oblivious to Wirt's bewilderment. Or, possibly, she just didn't care. "Can I have that rabbit?"

"Yeah, okay!" Greg said. "Baby dragons are always hungry, right?"

" _Greg_ ," Wirt hissed, but the dragonet was already lunging and dragging the rabbit out of the fire, eating in quick jerky bites. It was nearly half her size, but she swallowed it in seconds. "Wha-- hey!"

"Wow, that's good, thanks," the dragonet said to them. "Hey, which of you is the one who talked to me? Was that you?" She looked up at Wirt.

"Yeah," he said awkwardly, "but the things I said are still true, so can you please leave?"

"That's not gonna happen," the dragonet said. "One of my family was supposed to give me a name, but the Beast killed them, so you're the only human I know right now. So, you have to be my captain and give me a name. That's how it works, right?"

"Yep!" Greg said before Wirt could stop him. "Hey, Wirt, what are you gonna name her? What about Kitty?" The dragonet looked at him incredulously.

This wasn't happening. "What about, um..." He'd read Dante recently, hadn't he? "Beatrice?"

"Hmm, okay. That'll work." Beatrice flicked her wings again and licked her chops. " _Beatrice._ I'm Beatrice." She looked up at Wirt. "So... do you have any more food?"

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the Beast's song "Come Wayward Souls" from OTGW.
> 
> Please leave a review on your way out.


End file.
